


Selkie Tunes

by Eggling



Series: Selkie-Song [3]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Multi, Parent AU, Selkie AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-15 19:42:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13620372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggling/pseuds/Eggling
Summary: A series of selkie au shorts.





	1. Sleeping Trouble

“Mmph.” Something was tugging on Jamie’s hand, but he was too firmly in the grasp of sleep to register it properly. “Doctor?”

“What is it?” He felt the Doctor stir beside him – but he was on the wrong side to be the one pulling on Jamie’s hand. “Go back to sleep, Jamie, the sun’s not up yet.”

Reluctantly, Jamie opened his eyes. Something was staring at him out of the semi-darkness, and the snatched his hand away with a yelp of alarm. “Doctor, there’s something in here with us?”

“ _Athair_?” A tiny, chubby hand reached over the side of the bed. “ _Athair_ , I had a nightmare.”

“Oh.” Jamie let out the breath he had been holding, all but deflating in relief, the tension in his shoulders fading. “Oh, wee one. Come here.” He reached down to lift his son onto his lap, and Rònan grasped anxiously at his sleeves. “A nightmare? What was it about?” Rònan buried his face in Jamie’s chest, shaking his head. “That’s alright, ye dinnae have to tell us if ye don’t want to.”

“Can I sleep here tonight?”

“Of course ye can.” Rònan scrambled off his lap to burrow underneath the covers, suddenly smiling brightly as the Doctor gathered him into his arms. Jamie flopped back onto the bed with a sigh, rolling over to exchange a worried look with the Doctor, who reached out to touch his shoulder reassuringly. They watched as Rònan’s breathing evened out and he reached for Jamie’s hand again, grasping it as he slipped back into a deep sleep.

“He’ll be fine,” the Doctor said quietly. “Everyone has nightmares when they’re little.”

“Not like this!” Jamie hissed. He cast a worried glance down at Rònan, and lowered his voice. “I worry that he remembers things. He never tells us what his nightmares are about.”

“He was only a few days old when we found him,” the Doctor reminded him. “Even if he does remember something, it can’t be a particularly vivid memory.”

“Mm. I hope not.” Jamie wound a curl of Rònan’s hair around his fingers absently. “Would sleeping in his other form help him?”

The Doctor considered this for a moment. “No, I don’t think so. We’re still ourselves when we’re seals, you know. He’d still dream of the same things.”

“What if it’s our fault? What if we’ve done something wrong, or we should have sent him tae live with your people, or -”

“Jamie.” The Doctor moved his hand to press a finger to Jamie’s lips, quietening him. “I may not be an expert on children -”

“You’re better off than me, though,” Jamie muttered. “At least your people  _have_  children. Or more children than us, anyway.”

“I still know a thing or two,” the Doctor continued. “And I can tell you that this isn’t our fault.” His gaze settled on something behind Jamie. “That being said…” He gently pushed Rònan out of his arms so as not to wake him, leaving the bed to take something from his desk. For a moment, Jamie thought he was going to bring back the book he unwrapped from it, but it was discarded, along with several loose scraps of paper, a few shells, and what looked suspiciously like fish bones.

“Your seal skin? Won’t he already have the real thing right next to him?”

“Well, yes.” The Doctor lifted Rònan out from under the covers, bundled the skin around him, and returned them both to bed. “But I thought – the feel of it – it might help him feel a little more like he’s sleeping with a pod. It might comfort him.” Jamie smiled, watching Rònan nuzzle into the seal skin happily.

Rònan’s tiny murmur was so quiet they almost missed it. “Shh, ‘m trying to sleep.”

The Doctor chuckled. “Well, that’s us told, isn’t it?”

“Aye.” Jamie kissed Rònan’s forehead, then reached out to take the Doctor’s hand again, kissing his palm. “Goodnight, Doctor.”

“Goodnight, Jamie.”


	2. Bedtime Stories

“… and so the selkie took her down to live with him beneath the water. But she grew sad, as humans always do, they’re not suited to the cold beneath the lochs. So the selkie built her a fire -”

“When’s he going to meet his faery?”

“What?” The Doctor frowned at Rònan in confusion. “Who said he was going to meet a faery?”

“The selkie has to meet a faery and fall in love with  _him_.” Rònan folded his arms and pouted determinedly at the Doctor.

“That’s not how the story goes, dear.”

“What about you and athair?”

“He has a point, ye know.” The Doctor felt a kiss pressed to the top of his head, and leaned into Jamie when he sat down beside him. “What’s your dad been telling ye, eh?”

“About selkies and humans.” A wide smile spread across Rònan’s face. “I want to hear about you!”

“Aye, alright then.” Jamie tucked Rònan back under his blankets, smoothing them out where he had disturbed them. “What do ye want to hear about?”

“You spoil him, you know,” the Doctor said. His tone was gently chastising, but fondness was sparking in his eyes. “He has to hear other stories sooner or later, we’ll run out.”

“Just because he likes my bedtime stories better -”

“Well, we’ll, ah – we’ll tell this one together, shall we?”

“You’ll only spend the whole time correcting me.”

“I promise not to.” Rònan giggled at them, and the Doctor ruffled his hair gently. “Would you like to hear about the time we went swimming with orcas, then? We were travelling just after we were married…”

“That was the time with the basking sharks, leannan. This was before we were married, remember?”

“Now who’s correcting who?” Jamie grinned at him. “Hush now, love, it’s a good story.”


	3. Cultural Differences

Jamie emerged from behind the bushes, shaking himself. “How about this?”

“Perfect,” Polly deadpanned. A moment later, she broke down into laughter. “It’s adorable, Jamie. It suits you, really.” She only laughed harder at Jamie’s frown. “How do you feel about it?”

Flicking his tail experimentally, Jamie shrugged. “It’s alright. I might use it sometimes. But it still doesnae feel right. S’pose I’m no’ a wildcat person.” Polly’s shoulders slumped. “I cannae help it, Polly.”

“You can’t at least keep the ears?” Polly asked, reaching up to touch them. They twitched away almost of their own accord, and Jamie shook his head. “But they’re so cute.”

“They’re no’ supposed to be _cute_ , they’re supposed to be _me_.” Slipping behind the bushes again, Jamie stared out at the forest, as if the right creature would suddenly jump out at him.

Polly peered through the branches. “Why do you keep going behind there? Is it special?”

Blushing, Jamie rustled the branches, making her jump back. “Watching someone change forms is – well – it’s a wee bit _intimate_.” He turned back towards the forest. “What am I missin’?”

“A squirrel?” Polly suggested.

“Don’t think so.”

“A mouse.”

Jamie snorted. “Hardly.”

“Oh, I know!” The branches parted, revealing Polly’s grinning face. “A slug.”

“ _Polly_!” Summoning a handful of leaves, Jamie tossed them at her, and she retreated, laughing. “You’re supposed to be helping.” He peered back around the bush. “What are _you_?”

“I’m a stream fae,” Polly replied, sounding baffled. “You fell into my stream the first time we met, remember?”

“No’ really. I was a wee bit preoccupied. It’s all a blur now.”

“What did you think I was?”

“I didnae mean what type of _fae_ ye are,” Jamie said, slowly, as if spelling it out to a small child. “I meant what _animal_ ye are.”

“I’m not any type of animal,” Polly said. “I’m just… me.” She bit her lip, considering it for a moment. “I can turn into water if I want, I suppose. I can melt into my stream if I’m in it.” Her expression brightened. “Maybe you’re not an animal at all! Maybe you’re some other part of the forest!”

Closing his eyes, Jamie dissolved his physical form, turning first into a gust of wind, then a sprig of moss, then a leaf on the ground. “Don’t think so,” he squeaked.”

“Oh, good.” Polly shuddered. “Can you turn back? It’s a bit hard to talk to a leaf. I’m afraid I’ll squash you.”

Jamie returned to his usual form with a swirl of magic and a brush of wind. “Do ye remember anything that might help from when ye found me?”

“Oh!” Polly’s eyes widened. “You had -” She lifted her hands to her head, mimicking. “Antlers.”

“Why didn’t ye say so earlier?” Jamie closed his eyes and shook himself. As he did so, a pair of antlers sprouted from his head, and he beamed, opening his eyes again. “I’m a deer person,” he announced proudly.

Polly patted his arm. “I’m happy for you,” she said. “I’m still not sure I understand it all, though.” She looked him up and down. “No tail?”

Jamie shook himself again, still too excited to worry about decency. “ _Ow_ ,” he said a moment later. “’m stuck – that’s better.” Polly giggled at him. “Wheesht ye. It got stuck under my kilt.”

“Shame,” Polly said. “I’ll make you one with a hole in it. Come on, let’s show the others!”

“Aye – _ouch_.” Jamie looked up, sighing when he saw that his antlers were caught on the branches of the tree above. “I think I might need tae make them a wee bit smaller.”


	4. First Words

There was a disturbance in the forest. Jamie turned his head towards it, though he did not open his eyes. He could see further with his mind, perched as he was in the trees. Something was rushing along the main path – something alien, something which did not belong in his magical landscape. A pursuit? No, too large to be prey, and its urgency was driven by excitement rather than fear. The feeling made his tail flicker eagerly. Only when he heard footstep drawing close to his tree did he open his eyes, smiling. The new magical signature was so familiar, so distinctive here, that it was a wonder he had not recognised it earlier.

Leaning forwards against his branch, he gripped it tightly and let himself roll over, hanging from the underside. The Doctor skidded to a halt in front of him, eyes wide with alarm. “ _Jamie_! Goodness, you -” A broad smile spread across his face as he registered Jamie’s presence. “You gave me something of a fright.”

“Sorry, leannan.” Jamie leant forwards and kissed him, daring to release the branch with one hand to cup the Doctor’s face. “Mmph. Ye looked like ye were in a rush.”

“Was I?” The Doctor’s expression was one of blissful distraction. “I am!” The smile returned, and Jamie had to kiss him again. The Doctor mumbled his next sentence into the kiss, as if he had not noticed the feeling of Jamie’s lips against his own. “Rònan just said his first words.”

“What?” Shock made Jamie let go of the tree, and he only managed to soften his landing by summoning wings at the last minute. The Doctor offered him his hand, and he took it gladly, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. “How did it happen? What did he say?”

“Just ‘dad’. And that he was hungry.” The Doctor was practically hopping from foot to foot with excitement. “I thought you might like to hear.”

Jamie beamed back at him. “’Course I wanted tae hear it.” He took the Doctor’s hand, letting himself be pulled out of the forest and towards the beach. “Did ye feed him before ye came?”

“Yes, I’d just brought back -” The Doctor paused, letting go of Jamie to put his hands on his hips. He frowned down at the seal pup inching its way along the path in front of them. “Now, what did I say about staying put?” Rònan squeaked up at him and rolled over, not seeming at all apologetic. “Well, at least you found us.”

Jamie bent down to pick Rònan up, leaning back to avoid the happy waving of his flippers. “What did we say about watchin’ out for people’s faces, eh?” Rònan whined softly, but stopped his flapping. “Good lad. Now, what’s this your dad says about ye talking?”

“He says he’s sorry,” the Doctor put in. He sighed. “He’s so well-behaved for you. I can hardly get him to sit still for five minutes while I catch him a fish.”

“It won’t last,” Jamie said, laughing. “Ye were the favourite last week. Nobody else could get him tae sleep, remember?” He turned to stare at the Doctor. “What do ye mean, he says he’s sorry?”

The Doctor gestured to Rònan. “You heard him.”

“No,” Jamie said slowly. “No, I didn’t.”

“But he said -” The Doctor started to laugh, taking Rònan from Jamie and ruffling the fur on top of his head. “Oh, dear, I have been rather silly, haven’t I? He’s still too young to talk in your language, of course, but he’s starting to talk in ours. Aren’t you, flipperling?” He tickled Rònan’s stomach, making him honk and squirm away.

Jamie nodded, mulling it over. “But he can understand us? Talking like this, I mean.”

“Yes, he seems to. Not quite so well, though.”

“Ye can – ye can _talk_ to him.” Jamie’s expression grew nervous. “What does he think of me?”

Turning back to Rònan, the Doctor exchanged a few clicks and grunt with him. A wide smile spread across his face. “He says he loves you!”

Smiling, Jamie kissed the top of Rònan’s head. “I love ye too, flipperling.”


	5. Love Over Books

“Zoe?”

It was her research supervisor, Ailidh. Zoe kept her eyes carefully trained on her book, flipping the pages quickly in an attempt to look busy. “I haven’t found that reference yet,” she said distractedly. “But I have found something that could be connected, do we have any books on -” She looked up. Ailidh was standing over her, for once appearing calm instead of flustered or rushed. A stranger was standing behind her, hands clasped together nervously – a girl, dressed hastily in clothes which had clearly been borrowed from the communal wardrobe. Her hair shone like sunlight, and Zoe was painfully conscious that she was staring, but could not tear her eyes away. “… flower magic?”

“I’m not here to check up on your research, Zoe.” Ailidh was as brusque and direct as ever. “This is Isobel. She’s going to be working opposite you.”

Zoe stood up abruptly, smoothing down her skirts and leaving behind a streak of dust. Isobel bit her lip, trying to hide a smile, and Zoe’s cheeks reddened. She held her hand out, then thought better of it when she realised she was still wearing the gloves she used to handle the older books. “I’m Zoe,” she said, a little uselessly.

Isobel opened her mouth to reply, but Ailidh interrupted her. “You’ll be in good hands with Zoe. I’ll go and fetch your first assignment.” She swept away, peering over the shoulders of other researchers as she went.

Isobel relaxed, breaking into a wide grin. “Is she always like that?”

“Most of the time, yes.” Zoe tilted her head to one side. “I haven’t seen you around the court before. Where are you from?” There was something _wrong_ with Isobel, she realised. The world-energy surrounding her was barely strong enough to show her life force, let alone her magic.

“I – I don’t know.” Isobel’s smile fell away, and a touch of fright began to creep into her voice. “Here, I think – or I should be from here, anyway. My uncle – he studies natural philosophy – he lives nearby, and I’ve been staying with him, and I went out into the forest to paint, and here I am.” She shrugged. “I’m not even sure where here is. I’ve never seen it before.”

The pieces clicked into place. “You’re human.”

Isobel stared at her. “Well of course I’m human.” She looked Zoe up and down. “So are you. What else would I be?”

Zoe stared back at her. “I’m a faery, of course, like the rest of us.” It would be fascinating to study the ability of a human to adapt to an entirely new world, she thought. And if it meant spending more time observing Isobel – well, she could hardly complain about that. “You must have found us through a faery ring.”

“I don’t understand.” Feeling for the chair at her new desk, Isobel sat down heavily. “Faeries are just superstitious nonsense.”

“I assure you, we’re quite real.”

“I suppose that would explain some of the things I saw on the way in,” Isobel said, letting out a shaky laugh.

“That’s why they’ve put you in here, then.” Zoe sat down, watching Isobel carefully. “They’ll be hoping some of the magic from the heart of the sídhe will rub off on you -”

“Here.” Ailidh returned, bearing an armful of books and her usual harried expression. “New manuscript copies. We need them coloured as quickly as possible.” She frowned at Zoe, gesturing for her to return to her work, and Zoe looked back down at her book hastily.

Isobel took the books, watching Ailidh retreat around the corner. “She doesn’t waste any time, does she?”

“No, she doesn’t. We’re busy in here.” Zoe grinned at Isobel. “Welcome to the library.”


	6. Deer

“Hey.” Jamie reached up to tap at Rònan’s leg, distracting him from the faces the Doctor was pulling. “What’s that one, hm?” He bent down so Rònan could study the plant he had pointed to.

“Tea,” Rònan announced. He reached out to pluck a fistful of sprigs from the plant, then busied himself with tucking them haphazardly into Jamie’s hair. “It’s tea.”

“Aye, we do make tea from it, but what is it?” Fighting the impulse to shake his head, Jamie winced as Rònan tugged on his antlers. “Hey. Is it polite to pull people’s antlers?”

“Tea,” Rònan repeated. “Tea, tea, tea.”

Jamie cast a pleading look at the Doctor, who hurriedly concealed his amused smile. He exchanged a few squeals and snorts with Rònan, ruffling his hair. “Good lad. He’s just tired, he wants to go home and have some tea now. I think it’s my turn to name things tomorrow, he wants to do fish.”

“Aye, alright.” Jamie swung Rònan down from off his shoulders and into his arms, bouncing him gently. “Just tell me what this last plant is, and then we can go home.”

Rònan gazed up at him in silence for a moment, his eyes wide, before breaking into a smile. “Heather!” he exclaimed.

“That’s right!” Jamie turned to the Doctor. “Do ye think he’s remembered enough plants for one day?”

“Hmm, I don’t know.” Laughing, the Doctor fended off Rònan’s waving hands. “Do you think we’ve done enough? We’ve only had heather -”

“And oak trees -”

“And thistles -”

“And marram grass,” Jamie finished. “I think he’s done enough. How about we go home by Polly’s stream, hm, see if she’s there?” Rònan let out a squeal of approval, scrambling back onto Jamie’s shoulders. “Hey, hey – ow! What’re ye doing up there?”

“Making you pretty,” Rònan mumbled. He was back at work with the heather sprigs, Jamie realised.

“What do ye think?” he asked the Doctor. “Am I pretty?”

Once again, the Doctor was trying and failing to muffle his laughter. “Exceptionally pretty, as always,” he said, leaning over to kiss Jamie’s cheek. Rònan pushed one of the heather sprigs behind his ear, and wailed loudly when it fell out. “Oh, dear, did you drop one?” He bent down to pick it up, and handed it back to Rònan, leaning close to let him replace it. As he did so, his eyes fixed upon the top of Jamie’s head, and he froze. “Oh, _dear_ ,” he whispered.

It took Jamie a moment to realised that the Doctor had stopped walking. “What’s ‘oh dear’?” he asked, turning back to him. “Come on, Doctor, I thought we were going home. Our wee flipperling’s heavy.” The Doctor silently reached up to take Rònan from him. His expression was strained, and Jamie was alarmed to realise that his eyes were brimming with tears. “Hey, what happened?”

“Oh _dear_ ,” the Doctor repeated again. He gestured weakly up at Jamie’s antlers, almost doubled over with laughter. “Oh – _deer_!”

Jamie scowled at him, trying to suppress his own laughter. “It’s no’ funny,” he protested. “It’s no’ even a good joke.”

“Y – yes.” The Doctor straightened up, adjusting his grip on Rònan. “Yes, you’re quite right.” He strode on past Jamie, calling “my deer” over his shoulder as he went.

“You -” Jamie broke into a jog to keep up with him, grinning despite himself. “You’re ridiculous, ye know that. Sometimes I don’t know why I married ye.”

“Because you love me,” the Doctor answered cheerfully. “ _My deer_ ,” he added, smirking at Jamie.

Rònan was laughing wit him now, reaching out for Jamie’s antlers. “Deer!” he exclaimed, pointing up at them.

“Very good, flipperling,” the Doctor said. “You’ve learnt an animal today, too. It’s true, you know,” he called after Jamie. “You’re my deer.”

“I am _not_.”

“Would you rather I found another deer?”

“Ye wouldn’t do that.” Jamie let the Doctor catch up with him and took his hand, touching his wedding ring. “You’ve already _sealed_ the deal, remember?”

The Doctor groaned, clutching at his chest dramatically. “I didn’t think you’d sink so low,” he said. “Alright, _deerest_. I won’t laugh at your antlers.”

“Good,” Jamie said, grinning. “Now, wheesht ye, we’re almost at Polly’s stream. And don’t ye go telling her about this, either.”

“Oh, what a good idea!”

“I said _don’t_!”


	7. Roses

Victoria edged further into the forest, her shoulders hunched against the unfamiliar darkness. “Jamie?” A twig snapped behind her, and she whirled around, searching for the source of the noise. “Jamie, is that you?” Stepping backwards, she stumbled over a loose branch, and frowned down at it, adjusting her skirts. A flick of her fingers sent it skittering off underneath a nearby bush. “Oh, Jamie, why do you have to come from somewhere so _messy_?”

Round the corner, down the left fork, and straight on until she found the big tree, she reminded herself. It was a walk she had taken many times, though seldom alone. The forest seemed so chaotic compared to the comfortable, unchanging familiarity of her gardens, full of deep, shifting shadows that never failed to put her slightly on edge. But it was for a good cause, she reminded herself. Jamie could avoid her in the Seelie court, but she knew where to find his tree. The flowerbed there held a trace of her own touch, woven into it through the many hours she and Jamie had spent there, and she followed the trace of it along the pathway.

Catching sight of Jamie’s tree, she hurried towards it. “Jamie? Jamie, I wanted to talk to you, about -” She skidded to a halt when she saw the deserted clearing, and worse – entirely, gut-wrenchingly worse – the state of the flowerbed. “… about the Doctor.”

She pressed her hands to her face, unable to look at the scene before her for a moment longer. The flowers were _dead_ , their stems yellowed and bent and broken, their petals and leaves pale and translucent. Everything was screaming that this was wrong, that fae flowers were eternal, that they could not simply die away of her own accord. She had only seen such devastation once before, after the Unseelie raid that took her father. And if the flowers here were dead, then Jamie must be…

Uncovering her face, she knelt before the flowers. Tears dripped from her cheeks and onto the soil like some terrible, twisted form of rain. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to them. “Maybe I should’ve talked to him sooner.” When she touched their petals, they crumbled away into dust. She felt the piercing pain of it as clearly as if she was kneeling in her own garden. “What can I do?” She knew that the answer was ‘nothing’, just as she knew why the flowers had died.

Without the Doctor, Jamie’s flowers would never grow again.

She turned and fled, overcome by the horror lodged in her chest and the bile rising in her throat. The knowledge that Jamie’s flower field was dying seemed to have extinguished the forest’s only bright point, the only safe haven that kept her coming back. Brambles that she had skipped past before dug their thorns into her dress, dragging her down, pulling her back into the darkness. Panicked, she broke into a run, but tripped on a stone and tumbled to the ground. She winced as she sat up and examined her scratches. Her hands were scraped, and blood was staining through the white wool of her stockings. Was it worth it? she wondered. To try and help with no guarantee of success, when it meant coming back to this place?

The edge of the forest was just ahead of her. She pushed herself upright and walked out from beneath the trees slowly, her head spinning, feeling as if she was in a dream. The fine muslin of her dress was torn, and leaves were tangled in her hair. She felt changed, dirtied, as if the forest had pulled her apart and put her back together again, all in the wrong order. Just as she was about to fold her arms and leave behind the forest for good, she caught sight of Jamie sitting on the shore below, slowly casting a handful of something out to sea. His grief was so palpable that he might as well have been screaming, and Victoria’s heart clenched at the sight.

A rose was blooming around her hand, thorny vines wrapping around her wrist. She smiled down at its dark crimson petals, brushing her fingers over them gently. “Yes, I know what I ought to do for him.”

* * *

“It won’t work, you know.”

Victoria jumped, almost dropping the flowerpot she held cradled in her arms. Jamie lay draped along the overhanging branch of his tree. At first glance, he seemed as languid and contented as a cat, but when she looked closer she saw that he was weak, tired, when the forest should have left him brimming with magic. Energy was wisping away from the tips of his fingers, as if he was being drained. He pressed himself closer to the branch, as if trying to pull more energy from it, or perhaps as if he might melt away into nothingness at any moment. The sight of it almost made her sick.

“How do you know it won’t work?” she asked, regretting the harshness in her voice even as she spoke. “It’s not like you’ve tried it.”

“I can _feel_ that it won’t work,” Jamie said, slowly, as if talking to a very small child. He closed his eyes. “They’re my flowers, an’ I can see that they won’t grow again unless he comes back.”

“Oh, stop being so self-pitying, Jamie!” Victoria snapped. “You did have a life before he came, you know.” He ignored her. For all that they had shared their grief since she first discovered his dead flowers, she still wondered if he thought he was the only one who missed the Doctor. “Anyway, I’m only trying to help.”

“An’ I’m trying tae save ye the disappointment,” Jamie mumbled into the branch.

Huffing, Victoria knelt down beside the flowerbed, gently tipping the rose out of its pot. The ground was as dry as the flowers, and it took her a moment’s scrabbling to dig a hole deep enough. Jamie opened one eye to watch her place the flower in the ground, then sit back and examine her work. Not her neatest job, she admitted to herself, but it hardly mattered. The rose was planted.

“There,” she said. “I’ll come by tomorrow with another flower. It’ll grow again, you’ll see.” She rearranged the dirt around the stem. “A fresh start, that’s what we all need.” Even as she spoke, the flower withered away, its petals losing their colour and becoming transparent. Victoria slumped with it, trying and failing to coax it back to life. She looked up at Jamie pleadingly, but he shook his head, slipping out of the tree.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “It’s gone. I think the earth’s as dead as the flowers are.”

Victoria buried her face in his shoulder, hiding her tears. “I know,” she mumbled. “I felt it go.” She glared up at him, her eyes stinging. “I know what that feels like, you know. When things – when people leave.”

“Aye, I know ye do.”

“Don’t you dare go too.” Taking his hand, Victoria examined his fingers, almost as faded as the flowers. “I can’t lose you, after everything.”

“Ye won’t.” Jamie ran his fingers over the petals of Victoria’s flower. It wilted a little more under his touch. “Feels like this one wasn’t good to begin with,” he said softly. “How’s your garden been holding up?”

Victoria shrugged. “Still growing. Not like this.”

“But not what it used to be.” Cupping his hands, Jamie formed a small fern between his palms. “Here, take this back and plant it.” He grinned weakly. “I always said your garden needed tae be a bit more wild.”

Victoria snorted softly, but took the fern anyway, depositing it gently in the discarded flowerpot. “Alright, then, I’ll plant it. If it helps you.”

“Would it help ye?” Jamie’s eyes were soft, and Victoria smiled, recognising a hint of his old self.

“Yes, I expect so,” she said. “Oh, Jamie, I only wish I could do something for you.”

“Ye already did.” Victoria pulled back, looking him up and down curiously. Somehow he seemed more solid, a fraction more alive than he had been before, but she could not see it as a victory.

“It won’t last forever,” she said sadly. “I can’t really keep you here.”

“Ye brought your flower back,” Jamie said. Victoria followed his eyes down to it, smiling tentatively when she saw the veins of colour beginning to branch through its petals, the soft green tinge creeping into its leaves. “Maybe the others will grow again after all.”

“Maybe we could bring him back, too.” She nestled in against Jamie’s side. “If we wished hard enough.”

“Aye.” Jamie wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Aye, I’d like tae believe that, lassie. Just for a wee while.”


	8. Little Fish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for [ettelwenailinon](ettelwenailinon.tumblr.com).

Moonlight beat down on the shoreline. The Doctor rolled over, kicking his legs out from underneath his coat restlessly. Most of his pod was still and silent, and he knew he ought to feel tired – but how could he sleep, after such marvellous dancing?

For all his excitement over the dance – the first full-moon dance he had been old enough to join, at that – he had to admit to himself that there was another reason why he was so reluctant to sleep. Grandmother Bronach’s sad, quiet voice, so seldom heard amongst the chorus of the pod, was ringing softly across the shore, rhythmic and soothing like the waves that almost drowned it out. He squirmed again, trying to surreptitiously wriggle closer and make out the words of her song. As he inched across the beach, his sealskin slipped from him, lying abandoned and forgotten in his wake. The soft hiss of fur against sand and shell made Bronach look up, her song dying away. She smiled at him knowingly, and the Doctor was overcome with the impression that she had known he was listening all along.

“Oh, little fish.” Skirting around the other selkies, she approached him, reaching out to take his coat and wrap it securely around his shoulders. Her hands were rough, the sea-smoothness long since worn out of them, and the Doctor shuddered at the unfamiliar sensation of her touch. As much as he liked Bronach, the hint of something _wrong_ , something alien in the calluses of her hands was unsettling. “I would give much for us to be able to leave our skins in the tide like children, but the world is not so kind. You must keep it safe, and let no-one but other selkies touch it.” She clutched at her own coat, its edges ragged and its fur patchy from years of neglect.

“What were you singing, grandmother Bronach?” the Doctor asked.

Bronach’s fingers brushed against the shell-locket hanging from the fine rope of seaweed tied around her neck. “A lullaby,” she said at last. “Something I made the mistake of singing for children who could never understand, many years ago. Children very different from you.”

“Why do you never sing with the rest of us? Is it because of them?”

Bronach shook her head, turning her face away from him. “Because of the human who called himself my husband.”

“Did you not love him?” Bronach shook her head. “Why not?”

“I had my voice stolen, little fish,” Bronach said, her voice hollow. “Imagine that. You think it’s just your heart at first, but then your coat, your ability to sing with your people… All the glamours and magics that we are given, locked away to rot. I thought I loved him once, but I was wrong, and it has cost me dear.” She gave an empty, bitter laugh. “A piece of your soul, hidden and chewed on by moths.”

“What are moths?”

Seemingly despite herself, Bronach smiled at his eager, wide-eyed curiosity. “Fish that swim in the air.”

The Doctor gasped. “Can I see them one day?”

To his dismay, Bronach’s smile faded as quickly as it had come. “You’re much too curious about the world inland. I was the same once, you know. I can only hope that if you ever find yourself caught between land and sea, your choice is an easy one. My mother named me Bronach – _sadness_ – because she foresaw that my choice would break me.”

The Doctor jutted out his chin, drawing himself up to look Bronach in the eye. “But I’m the Doctor,” he pointed out proudly. “I can fix things.”

“And I’m sure you’ll fix many things,” Bronach said, ruffling his hair. “What worries me is that you may not be able to fix your own heart, if the time ever comes.”

“I will,” the Doctor insisted. “If I really loved someone – I’d make sure I could stay with them.”

“You’ll love the sea more, in the end,” Bronach told him softly. “Our kind always do. The choice is not between places to stay, it’s between places to leave your heart.” The Doctor frowned up at her confusedly, and she smiled. “But you’re only a little fish, for now, and it’s long past your bedtime.”

Yawning, the Doctor curled up again, shuffling around to hollow out a comfortable dip in the sand. “Will you sing your song for me again?”

“Here.” Spreading her coat on the ground, Bronach lay down beside him. “I’ll teach it to you.”

* * *

He had been crying for so long that he could no longer distinguish between the salt of the ocean and the salt of his tears.

The realisation settled over the Doctor like a heavy woollen blanket, soaked with water, slowly dragging him down to the sea floor, inevitably drawing his mind back to Jamie. For a brief moment, he considered closing his eyes and simply letting himself fall into the depths. He was so tired, after all, so very tired, and his lungs felt so crushed by sadness that he might as well have been drowning already. Unthinkingly, he began to drift downwards, and for a brief moment the rising pressure of the water around him felt as if he was held in a familiar embrace. But he found himself being pulled towards the surface, dragged upwards by an unfamiliar hold, and he began to strain towards the surface automatically.

His rescuer shoved him unceremoniously onto the rocks of a small skerry before scrambling up after him, and he blinked around at his surroundings, struggling to get his bearings. The skerry was low and flat, barely an outcrop of stones a few hundred metres away from a much large island, and yet it felt familiar despite its impressive lack of memorable features. Shifting out of his seal-coat and drawing in a shaky breath of stinging, salty air, he turned instead to his rescuer, rubbing his eyes to clear them.

The sight of the woman before him almost sent him topping back into the ocean in surprise. She looked older than when he had last seen her, her hair more grey and her hands less steady, but he would have known her anywhere. “Grandmother Bronach?”

Her smile was just as mournful as he remembered. “Little fish.”

He stared at the island before him again, and human eyes told him what seal instincts had failed to realise – that he had drifted back to the waters where he had grown up. And into the arms of the one person who might understand his pain, he realised, letting out a relieved sigh. Sitting up straighter, he winced at his aching joints. It had been too long since he had swum a long distance in so short a time. “How did you find me?”

“Something told me to sing alone this morning.” Bronach reached up to cup his face, her eyes looking as tearful as he felt. “And here you are.” Pushing his hair away from his forehead, she frowned up at him, studying him carefully. “It’s happened for you, hasn’t it? You’ve lost your heart.” She eyed his coat suspiciously, and he passed it to her, watching her check it over for damage.

“I didn’t have it taken away,” he explained, his voice hoarse with tears and disuse. “I gave my heart willingly, but it wasn’t enough. I still couldn’t stay with him.” Burying his face in his hands, he scrunched his eyes shut against fresh tears. “You used to say that we always love the sea more, but it isn’t true.”

“Oh, little fish. You just don’t realise it yet.” Bronach handed his coat back, apparently satisfied with its condition. “No matter what we choose, we can never stay.”

“Even if I wanted to stay?”

“You belong here.” Bronach gestured towards the island. “You’ll see, sooner or later.”

The Doctor stared at her, feeling as if his heart was breaking anew. He had truly believed that Bronach’s wisdom would help him, but he had been little more than a child when they had last spoken, and her knowledge of the world beyond the pod’s territories had dazzled him. Now he had knowledge of his own, and her words did not seem like wisdom. “You’re afraid,” he said at length. “Afraid of what hurt you. But your story isn’t mine, Bronach – I was making a _life_. I wasn’t hurt like you were. Now, _please_ -” She turned away from him. “Please. There must be a way for me to go home. I can’t wait seven years.”

“Who was he?” Bronach asked, as if she had not heard him. “A fisherman, a sailor...”

“A forest fae,” the Doctor admitted. Bronach recoiled, seeming taken aback. “I stopped at a nearby _sídhe_ to visit their library, but I didn’t expect – this.”

“You always were far too in love with the land, little fish,” Bronach murmured. “But he didn’t take your coat. You were lucky.” She patted his cheek. “And it’s over now. You came home.”

“But I’m not home!” the Doctor exclaimed, pulling away from her touch. “You’re – you’re not _listening_.” She stared back at him, baffled, and frustration surged in his chest. He had been so sure she would understand. “I didn’t want it to be over. You used to say that you hoped my choice would be easier – I made a choice, and I didn’t make _yours_.”

“But you came back to us,” Bronach insisted softly. “I know it’s been many years, but you’ll soon settle back in.” She took his hand, tugging him back towards the water. “I ought to take you to the pod, they’ll want to see you.”

“No!” The Doctor found that his heart was racing, pounding out a panicked cry for help. “No,” he repeated, twisting his hands together anxiously. “I don’t want to go back to them.”

Bronach was giving him an incredulous look that he knew all too well, and he was struck by the memory of exactly why he had left his pod in the first place. None of them could understand that he did not want to be tied to their ways, their lonely corner of the world. He should have expected that Bronach would not understand, he told himself sternly. Her heart had always lain with the pod, even when she had lived amongst humans. But his heart was painfully far from the dancing-shores of the selkies who had raised him, and he felt sickened by the thought of being trapped with them again.

“It’s been so long since you left us,” Bronach was saying softly. “I’m sure your stories will be welcomed.”

“I don’t want to go back to them,” the Doctor repeated weakly.

Bronach was still giving him that look, and his blood felt set to boil. “I know how you feel,” she said, patting his arm. “But we’ll find your voice again, little fish, don’t you worry.”

“My voice is fine,” the Doctor protested. “I just want to go home, I can’t – I can’t dance with the pod anymore.”

Bronach tutted. “I used to think so too, you know. Come along, you must be exhausted.”

Wrapping his coat around himself, the Doctor made as if to dive into the water, but paused, glancing behind him longingly as if he could still see over the curve of the horizon, to the shores he missed so desperately. His heart was almost bursting in his chest, and he wanted to scream out the aching pain of it to the whole world, but he could only manage a soft murmur, a question that Bronach could never answer. “What use is a choice if it always ends like this?”

* * *

The waves twisted and rippled around the Doctor, buffeting him in every direction, flinging him back and forth in a frenzied dance like a piece of driftwood. He let himself be carried along by the currents, keeping a careful eye on the small, white shape flickering through the water a short distance away from him. Only when he saw a flash of white above him did he rise to the surface, fighting to regain control of his limbs from the sea almost reluctantly. He nosed at Rònan, checking him over, before beginning to push him back towards the shore. As they came closer and the waves calmed, he shook off his sealskin, rolling over and pulling Rònan onto his chest as he had seen mother otters do. “What do you think, my little fish? How are the waves tonight?”

Rònan yawned, shedding his own skin and curling up like a cat. “Sore,” he mumbled, wrinkling his nose, but even as he spoke he broke into a wide grin. “Can we go out again now?”

The Doctor laughed, patting Rònan’s salt-curled hair soothingly. “Not tonight, I’m afraid. I don’t think Jamie would be too pleased if I tired you out that much, do you?”

“I can do it!” Rònan sat up on the Doctor’s chest, tilting dangerously close to the water. “I won’t be tired, I’m strong enough -” Yelping, he splashed down into the waves. When he re-emerged to climb back onto the Doctor, his face was set in a stern frown. “ _Papa_. Don’t laugh.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of laughing at you, little fish.” Rònan’s coat was slipping away, caught in a gentle current. The Doctor hooked it onto his finger as he drifted past, settling it securely over Rònan’s shoulders. “You ought to be more careful with your coat, you know.”

“I _am_ careful.” Curling up on the Doctor’s chest again, Rònan clutched at his coat with one hand. “Why do you call me little fish?”

The Doctor smiled, prodding gently at Rònan’s hand to make him loosen his grip on his arm. “Would you rather I called you little barnacle, for hanging on so tightly?” The tide swept them onto the shore, and the Doctor pushed Rònan higher up on his chest, keeping him just out of reach of the waves. Water brushed over them like a blanket, burying them deeper in their mattress of sand, and he was struck by the familiar feeling of being called home by both land and sea. For a brief moment he lay still, shivering at the sensation of it, but soon stood up to shake it off and lead Rònan further up the beach. They settled amongst the seals, lying with them as they huffed and snorted in their sleep. “I call you little fish because… Well, because you’re ever so wriggly.” Rònan laughed, clear and bright like a cheerful seabird. “And because my grandmother used to call _me_ her little fish.”

“Ye had a grandmother?”

The Doctor’s smile widened, and he sat up, reaching out one hand for Jamie to take. “Oh, I had several. They were grandmothers to the whole pod, you see, not just to me.” Jamie sat down beside him, kissing the palm of the Doctor’s hand and leaning over him to squeeze Rònan’s shoulder. “I thought you were asleep, Jamie, dear.”

“I was. It was a wee bit cold on my own, ye know.” Rònan squirmed in the Doctor’s lap, struggling to climb out of his arms, and the Doctor sighed and let him crawl over to Jamie. “Did your grandmother call everyone else her little fish too, then?”

“No, just me.” The Doctor fell quiet, busying himself with drawing swirls in the sand. “Ah – because of a song she used to sing,” he added eventually.

“Oh. An’ she taught ye the song?”

“Mm.”

“What’s it about?”

“It’s for wishing that a child will have a smoother choice between land and sea than you had.” Jamie winced. “Selkies have a touch of foresight, you see. It’s how we name our children. My grandmother’s name was Bronach, because she had her heart broken.” The Doctor smiled, leaning his head against Jamie’s shoulder. “But my choice was easier than hers, even if she could never understand it.”

“Aye, I ‘spose.” Jamie bounced Rònan in his lap, making him squeal and giggle. “An’ it turned out alright in the end. What does it mean, that we called him Rònan, then?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking about it at the time.” Rònan was tugging on the Doctor’s hand, and he laughed and surrendered it to being held. “Perhaps it means you’ll keep the company of seals, little fish.”

Snorting, Jamie glanced around them pointedly. “Hardly takes a selkie tae figure that one out. So, do ye think his choice will be easier than yours?”

“My choice was the easy part. Making it real was what hurt. But grandmother Bronach didn’t teach me the whole song. Some of it I had to learn myself.” Jamie tilted his head, frowning down at the Doctor. “Like the fact that there are other gifts in the world than seal-coats and the sea, and some of them are worth hurting for.” The Doctor yawned, flopping back against the sand as dramatically as he could manage. “Oh, dear. The waves _are_ tiring at night.”

“Mm.” Jamie settled down beside him, and the Doctor saw in his expression an understanding that the conversation was over. “’m tired again.”

“Perhaps we ought to go inside.”

“No.” Rolling over, Jamie draped himself over the Doctor’s chest, holding him in place. “I want tae stay by the sea tonight.”

“Alright.” The Doctor closed his eyes against the moonlight. “The sea it is, then.”

Wrapping his coat over them, he began to hum a familiar tune.


End file.
